Blame the Herald
by ChasingPerfectionTomorrow
Summary: Part 3,: 'Something foreign settled deep in Cullen's heart. Something he'd never felt before. Something dangerously close to contentment. Leliana had been right, of course. Not that he would ever admit it to her. He didn't know what the future held, but he would not, could not let this go, let her go, not without a fight.' Cullen/OC. COMPLETE
1. Blame the Herald

What to say about this little ficlet, hum? Well, it was eating me alive so I gave up and set it free before it wound up ruining my life – like the game it's spawned from, damn addictive video games. I kept with the series of events but played around with actions and dialog because, well, why not?

Oh Commander Cullen, you're in for a hell of a ride. But we'll see how it goes.

Oh, I own nothing. BioWare is king.

* * *

**Blame the Herald**

**Part One  
**

_I had to go through hell to prove I'm not insane  
Had to meet the devil just to know his name_

_And that's when my love was burning_  
_Yeah, it's still burning_

_I keep going to the river to pray_  
_'Cause I need something that can wash all the pain_  
_And at most I'm sleeping all these demons away_  
_But your ghost, the ghost of you_  
_It keeps me awake_

_Each time that I think you go_  
_I turn around and you're creeping in_  
_And I let you under my skin_  
_'Cause I love living in the sin_

_Ghost, by Ella Henderson_

* * *

Cullen wasn't sure what to make of their wayward champion.

He studied her from across the room, settled deeply into his chair, half concealed in shadows in a calculated effort to intentionally make himself less visible. He was content, for once, to observe rather than participate. Cassandra and Leliana were filling the woman in on the most recent events at Haven. Things were going well, better than any of them had dared hope, and the conversation quickly dissolved into slightly less serious matters.

"Where is Josephine?" The Herald asked, eyes sliding around the room as though she expected the woman to appear from behind the curtains. When her eyes inevitably found his, hers slipped quickly and nervously away. He was slightly miffed by her reaction. Cullen often intimidated women, with his titles and back ground, but he suspected their little Champion was unaware of such things. And she _was_ little.

He wasn't sure what he'd imagined, when he'd first heard tale of the Herald of Andraste, but this woman was not it. Maybe someone like Cassandra; yes a woman, but tough and resilient, giving as good as she got. No, their Herald, the current master of their fates and potential savior of the entire world, was damned _delicate _looking.

From her overall height and size, to the fine features of her face and the precise coif of her auburn hair, she exuded femininity and grace. This made her use of bow and blade all the more alarming when personally witnessed, a conclusion he'd come to after catching sight of her briefly from across the training yard. It unnerved Cullen, surprised him really, and he rather hated surprises. His was a world of control, and so far she seemed a force beyond his will, or anyone else's for that matter. It made her unpredictable, and they could ill afford unpredictability.

Cassandra pulled a face, "She's buried under a mountain of missives. We've begun to make waves…"

The Herald raised one slim brow, "I'm assuming these are not _good_ waves, then?"

Cassandra and Leliana exchanged a glance before the latter said, with some obvious hesitation, "Well, they're not _all _bad. We've garnered some much needed support and, of course, plenty of descent from expected corners."

"Like the Chantry?" The Herald supplied. Her tone was rather cool and she ducked her head briefly, crossing one leg gracefully over the other. She was dressed simply; in a loose gray shirt with slackened laces that hinted at the swell of full breasts, tight black leather breeches, and knee high boots of fine make. His practiced eyes noted the print of a knife in the boot casually bouncing against one knee, and the vague bulge of daggers at either hip, likely purposefully concealed by the looseness of her shirt. Cullen, a warrior nearly all his life, begrudgingly approved.

Cassandra grunted. Her displeasure was obvious, "Indeed."

"Well, perhaps our work in the Hinterlands will change a _few _minds at least."

"You mean _your_ work, don't you?" Leliana teased lightly and Cullen was amused by the embarrassed flush that warmed the Herald's cool facade.

"I may be the one trekking through the mud but you lot are the ones with the plans. I'd be worse than lost without you." She said, and Cullen detected a hint of bitterness, as though she begrudged some weakness she saw within herself. It was a sentiment with which he could relate.

Cassandra rested her hand on the Herald's shoulder in a rare show of physical support. "You must have faith in yourself. None of this is possible without you."

Leliana smiled, and it was a touch indulgent. Cullen considered that smile and concluded that both she and Cassandra, who disagreed more often than they agreed these days, both liked their recent addition a great deal more than they let on. He considered this for a moment. Cullen had a great deal of respect for both women, appreciating their varying strengths and accomplishments. Cassandra, in particular, was someone whom he took advice from and had established a moderately close bond with. About as close a bond as he ever allowed himself, anyway. Leliana was somewhat intimidating and he didn't always agree with her methods but, then again, she didn't always agree with his. Perhaps they kept one another in check.

Cullen watched the Herald rise, smooth as a feline, and decided to reserve judgment… for the moment.

* * *

Cullen didn't see the Herald again for several weeks.

She'd just returned from further exploits in the Hinterlands. Securing the Inquisition with horses and appeasing aggrieved town's folk, or so the reports indicated. He went in search of her, intent on receiving a full report, as she hadn't appeared at the War Table that afternoon as expected. He was, if he was being honest with himself, a little irritated by her absence.

He found her at the stables, obviously preparing to leave again. Her new mount, of admittedly fine quality, was heavily laden with gear and supplies. Dressed for travel and danger, their Herald made no attempt to conceal her deadliness. In place of an ill-fitting shirt was a bodice of tight leather that emphasized the curve of waist and hip, iron studded gauntlets over slim hands and obsidian plated leg guards that gleamed menacingly in the torch light. Bow and quiver were slung across her back and her wide belt bristled with blades of varying sizes and purpose. She painted a grim picture indeed. But not an all together unattractive one, or so his traitorous mind supplied, but it was a thought he quickly smothered before it could take flame.

"Off again so soon?" He asked, leaning against an empty stall. He smirked as she jumped in alarm. Turning, she frowned at him and Cullen had the impression she wasn't used to people successfully sneaking up on her. Cullen knew how to be silent when necessary. He tried not to feel smug.

The Herald recovered herself quickly, turning her back to him once more as she fussed with straps and buckles. He took quick note of her hair, which had been intricately and tightly braided, knotted at the top of her head in a manner which emphasized the sharpness of her cheek bones. He rather liked the effect, which was more than a little strange. He wasn't exactly in the habit of taking note of a woman's hair.

"We've just received word of a dragon, actually." She said casually, as though commenting on the weather.

Cullen's hands dropped in surprise and he stepped forward. "And you're what, riding off to meet it?"

The Herald snorted lightly, "Not _just_ me. Sheesh. Cassandra, Varric and Solas as well. I know you lot believe I'm basically Andraste's chosen one, but I figured it would be foolish to take on a dragon alone." She began tugging her mount, a lithe beast that was obviously built for speed and agility much like its new master, toward the stable doors. Cullen stared after her for a moment, shocked as much by her response as by what it actually entailed.

"But why on earth would you chase after dragons?" He insisted, his irritation mounting. How he loathed spontaneity. "Don't you think we have more important things to worry about than a dragon?"

The Herald kept walking, forcing Cullen to follow after her like a nagging fish wife. She leapt, graceful as always, into her saddle as soon as they were outside. Cullen noted her three companions waiting for her just up the road, concealed somewhat by the gently falling night. He glared at the heavily armored rider that could only be Cassandra, instantly blaming her for this sudden rashness. He expected the Seeker to know better, damn it.

The Herald grinned down at him, the fading light casting her features into sharp feral angles that made something equally animalistic within his chest growl in response. Maker, did she unnerve him sometimes.

"Don't worry, Commander, you'll have your _Herald _back in one piece. But we can't just let dragons go around burning down villages and eating the poor peasants. Rather bad for business. We'll be back before you know it." Again, there was a tone of bitterness laced beneath the sarcasm. She felt used, he realized, but by whom, he wondered. Him? All of them?

She pulled her cloak around her and tossed him a playful salute before kicking her horse into an impressive canter. Cullen could do little more than stare after her, briefly entertaining the idea of riding after them just to give them all a piece of his mind. He knew better though, he had far too many responsibilities in Haven to go rampaging across the countryside hunting dragons. A fact which stung more than just a bit in that moment, calling wistfully to the years he'd spent doing almost just that. He watched the little company ride away until the night swallowed them. Feeling oddly like an old weapon left behind, he returned to the keep, deep in thought.

He received her report three days later, and discovered that she could sound smug and sarcastic even in writing. Dammed woman was a complete enigma. When Leliana asked what he was smiling about from her seat across his desk, peering up at him ruefully from beneath her lashes as she reviewed her own teetering stack of missives, he glared harshly in response. She made it all the worse by laughing at him.

Cullen blamed the Herald. Since she'd arrived everything had been turned upside down or at least on its side.

* * *

Things fell apart so quickly that it left them all reeling.

One moment they'd been celebrating a bright moment of victory and in the next death had come pouring down from the hills like molten lava, deadly and unstoppable. Cullen was a mess of half conceived plans and bitter regrets. He should have done more for their fortifications, found a way to secure more soldiers, he should have done _anything_ and now… he could do nothing but wait for the inevitable. Maker save him, had it really come to this?

The Herald stood near him, leaning heavily against the cold stone wall of the main hall, out of breath with a shallow cut on her temple bleeding sluggishly down her face. She looked defeated. Maker, but she was brave. He could admit it now, in the hour of their doom, without grudge or hesitation. Since the moment they'd met their little Herald had been fighting tooth and nail nearly every moment of every day. Cullen was frankly amazed by her fortitude. And it had all been for nothing.

_My fault. _

_My fault. _

_Should have seen this coming. This is my fault-_

"We have to get these people out of here." She said suddenly, voice hardly more than a horse whisper.

From a distance Cullen had watched her fight with all the ferocity of a cornered lion as she'd cleared the way for his men to utilize the trebuchet, but she seemed small again as she met his gaze. Her eyes were green, he noticed absently. A deep green, like a forest in twilight, and currently hazed with grief and pain.

"There's no way past them," Cullen said stiffly, wishing with all his heart that it wasn't true. He didn't fear death, but he wasn't exactly ready to welcome it with open arms. Not to mention the hundreds of people he'd failed.

He was their Commander, their protector-

"There's a way," the Chantry priest said hoarsely, his battered face insistent. Cullen had nearly forgotten him entirely. "A way through the mountains, few know of it. It's a seldom used pilgrim's path."

The Herald sprung to attention, her eyes sharp and intent. "Could you lead the people through it?"

The priest hesitated briefly before pulling himself together in one of the bravest acts Cullen had seen from the man. Perhaps they had all misjudged him.

"Yes… Inquisitor." His voice was steady and heavy with meaning and regret.

"We're overrun," Cullen protested hollowly, "They'll follow us. Our best hope now is to hit the mountains behind us and at least choose the manner of our own deaths."

The Herald shot him a look and he watched as she came to some sort of decision, her delicate jaw clenching with sudden determination. He'd seen that look before, in the eyes of many good men, and it gave him the chills.

"Commander Cullen, you and the priest lead these people through the pass-"

He opened his mouth to protest but she silenced him with a hard look, "Myself, Cassandra and Varric will remain behind to close it after you."

He shook his head fiercely, "That's suicide and you know it. I won't let you-"

She gripped his shoulder, her slim fingers surprising strong where they met the bared flesh near his neck. "You can't stop me, Commander. Get these people out of here. We'll find you… if we can."

_If we live_, were the unspoken words in her eyes before she and Varric hurried from the hall. Fury rose - at himself, at the Maker, and at the woman who wasn't just the Herald, but as brave a soul as he'd ever met- and it gave him several moments pause before he did what he'd once done best; he followed orders.

"Come priest, let's get the hell out of here before we're buried alive or before that damn Archdemon manages to eat us all."

And so, they went, fleeing for their lives and leaving behind their one hope for salvation.

When the mountain collapsed behind them with a deafening roar, an ache grew and festered inside Cullen until everything around him seemed washed in grays and blacks. He didn't even feel the cold, or the terror. He felt numb.

He blamed the Herald.

* * *

Cullen spotted her first.

She materialized from the chaos of the storm like a miracle, a small, dark smudge of a figure on the closest rise. Even in a storm her fire touched hair was like a beacon in the dark. As he watched, momentarily stunned, the figure stumbled and then fell.

"There!" He bellowed from beneath the shelter of the outcropping. His voice carried and echoed and everyone, despite their weariness and sense of defeat, leapt to their feet.

He barreled forward into the heavy snow drifts like a valiant knight in gleaming armor, or perhaps more like an angry, irrational bull. Either way, Solas surpassed him in mere moments, practically floating across the snow.

"Elves," Cassandra muttered darkly under her breath as she helped him carve a path forward. The wind was like daggers against his face and neck, but his chest burned with an emotion he'd not felt in many years.

Hope.

He blamed the Herald.

By the time they reached her, Solas had her on her back and Cullen could all but taste the magic pulsing from his outstretched hands. Cullen's hatred of mages and magic might not run quite as deep as it once had, but it still made him damn uncomfortable at times. Though, he admitted, if it would keep their idiot of a Herald alive, he'd probably open the Fade himself to do it. He was far too cold and tired to consider the implications of such sudden and fierce devotion, but his logical mind filed it away for later dissection.

"She's alive, but we must get her warm." Solas cried over the howl of icy gales.

Cullen was made useful by sweeping the prone figure into his arms. There wasn't time to study her fully but a cursory glance showed him a pale, reddened face, bruised and battered but not too bad off. She was not heavy, and he managed to cradle most of her weight with one arm looped across her back, and used his other to press her face against his neck. Cassandra whipped off her cloak and threw it over them. Cullen all but shuddered with relief when he recognized the heated puff of the Herald's breath against his frozen skin.

Andraste preserve him, she had survived.

He could scarcely believe it, even with her weight in his arms. He was ashamed to admit that he had thought her gone forever the moment she'd left the hall. It was less a reaction to her capabilities and more a testament to how little faith he had in fate, or in his own pitiful luck.

Their healers took command as soon as they were out of the storm, and he was once again rendered useless. He and Cassandra were all but shoved out of the healer's tent and made to do the one thing he truly hated; wait.

Tempers were short and their happiness at the Herald's appearance didn't last long in the face of everything that had happened, and everything they didn't know. Consumed by their combined failures, he, Cassandra and Leliana were soon at each others throats, bickering and cursing at one another. He honestly couldn't recall, even moments later, what he'd been trying to say. But it didn't matter, because then the singing started. It began softly, wobbling slightly as Mother Giselle sang with age but no small talent, and swiftly grew until that fire the Herald had started in his chest burned to life once more.

He'd never sung outside of the required hymnals of his order, an order which he had long forsaken, but he took up the tune now with a fervor he hardly knew himself capable of. Damn him, but he believed in this Inquisition, in their cause, in their Herald. No living person ever expects to witness a miracle, and he found it very very disconcerting with one now staring him in the face.

She emerged from the tent behind the Chantry Mother, battered, but strangely aglow. Like the rising dawn within the song that built around them like cresting waves.

Their people came forward, singing and united. He'd rarely seen anything like it; people bolstered and steadfast even in the wake of near utter defeat was the stuff of Varric's tales and distant legends rather than the bitter truth of reality. But here, in this forsaken hovel, legends were made real. Cullen realized then that he may have underestimated the powerful symbol their Herald presented; perhaps they all had. It was his turn to be intimidated as their people took to a knee, ducking their heads to their seemingly impervious savior. He glanced at Cassandra and their eyes met and the decision was heavy between them for a moment before they each gave the slightest nod and knelt. If they wanted their Herald to lead them, to save them, it was time they let her.

He lifted his head and she caught his gaze with a startled and humbled look of her own. It was as though a lifetime of loss and failure passed before him and was then swept away, leaving him renewed.

Maker help him, but he blamed the Herald.

* * *

The Herald had never seen snow, which was quickly apparent to Cullen. She was very much a fish out of water.

"I grew up in the South, where it was warm. I used to dream about seeing snow." She said wistfully, huddled atop her mount in his heaviest cloak with only wisps of her hair, the glint of her eyes, and a slim red nose visible. Cullen had often been teased for his resilience to the cold, and in the dazzling afternoon sunlight, he felt quite refreshed. He was in surprisingly fine spirits despite their rather dire circumstances.

"And now?" He prompted, trying, and failing, to hide his amusement.

The Herald huffed and pouted, clearly miserable. She'd spent most of the morning at the head of the column with Solas, leading the way and doing her best to keep morale high, which she was surprisingly good at.

Their Herald was of humble birth, a fact which often slipped his mind. She made it easy to forget with her bearing and mannerisms, not to mention the powerful mark burning on her hand, but it was readily apparent when one looked. She was the youngest daughter of respectable, but simple farmers that had once held a modest patch of land not far from the Hinterlands, and as such possessed an ability that he, Cassandra, and Leliana likely took for granted; she knew how to talk to people. She understood their people on a level he'd long lost sight of. His duty was to ensure their soldiers knew how to fight, how to defend, and how to follow orders. He wasn't accustomed to considering the happiness of the common folk. Their Herald, despite the weight of the world on her shoulders, seemed eager to take on every little thing along the way. It was baffling. He'd never met anyone, man or woman, quite like her.

She took her turn at every duty without complaint, she heard the voice of everyone who came to her, and she dealt with all matters wearing a cloak of understanding and compassion. But there was more to it than that. She had a lively sense of humor and a mischievous glow about her that was at once endearing and infuriating. In one moment she was a pillar of respectability, courage and grace, everything they could have hoped for in a leader, and in the next she was howling with laughter beside Verric and Blackwall, downing a flagon of ale around the camp fire and exchanging vulgar jokes. Time and experience had taught Cullen that things which appeared too good to be true usually were. But he was having a damn hard time finding fault with her.

Though he suspected that her kindness would eventually be taken painfully advantage of, he couldn't bring himself to think less of her for it. The world had been in a serious drought of goodness and kindness recently. However, he knew somewhere deep in his gut that, one day, probably much too soon, something would take that goodness from her. Steal the kindness from her eyes and heart, and it cut at him. Their world was not a forgiving one, and if she intended to follow their path to the end, it might prove to be a bitter one indeed. War had a high price, and few had the stomach to pay it.

The Herald pulled him from his brooding.

"I might like it better beside a warm fire in a nice cozy cottage somewhere," she admitted and it was as close to a complaint he'd ever heard from her.

Cullen surprised himself with a laugh. He wouldn't have considered himself cheerless, but he wasn't exactly prone to fits of mirth, especially in front of his men. Several of whom turned to him in surprise, something akin to delight coloring their faces. Briefly embarrassed with himself, he caught the bright flash of her smile, and a moment later she tossed back the hood of his cloak. Cullen found himself staring.

Her hair was coming loose from its typically flawless bindings. She obviously hadn't had time to rework the intricacy of the braids since her return. It was longer than he'd expected, fluttering like tendrils of fire across her face, neck and chest. One particular strand curled invitingly along the nape of her slender neck and Cullen swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. He looked away, perturbed with himself.

"May I ask you a question, Herald?" He asked with more formality than he may have intended as he attempted to smoother his sudden unease.

She smirked, silently laughing in a way that got under his skin, as if she understood exactly what he was doing. She'd been spending too much time with Leliana. "Certainly, _Commander._" She was teasing him. He fought for indifference but it was damned hard.

"Where did you learn archery? You're quite proficient," he complimented with the same tone he might have used on one of his men during combat training. He was understating her skills by quite a bit. In truth, he'd never seen her rival.

A brief flash of something darkened her face before she spoke. Grief? Shame? Regret? He wasn't sure.

"My father taught me, he was the best archer in the Hinterlands." Her tone was faintly clipped, and her smile was forced. He shifted awkwardly in his saddle.

"Can I ask how it… happened, his ah, death that is?" Cullen cursed himself for asking, it was hardly his business. Maker knew he had things he kept to himself, friends and family lost that he'd rather not speak of.

She gave him a look, filled with what was certainly grief this time, but she had no tears. Cullen gathered that she wasn't prone to crying, and as someone who'd also lost too much and too often, he understood. She gave him a sad smile, understanding passing silently between them, before looking away. "An ambush of Darkspawn. My two elder brothers as well."

"I'm sorry," he said, meaning it. It struck him for the first time how little they truly knew of her. She spent so much time speaking to each of them about their own lives and troubles, that it made them all forget to ask after hers in turn. Cullen wondered if she did so intentionally.

The Herald shook her head, bemused. "It's alright Commander, we've all lost someone. We've all got our set of sob stories, mine aren't particularly worthy of note. "

Cullen opened his mouth to say something, not at all sure what, exactly, when Solas appeared at her left drawing her attention immediately. Cullen felt a strange sense of simultaneous relief and irritation at the elf's arrival, as though an important moment had been lost.

"Herald, you're needed at the front," Solas said, his tone calm but even Cullen caught the hint of excitement creeping in at the edges. He urged his mount closer to hear.

The Herald's face lit and she dipped over the side of her mount and whispered, "Are we there? Are we close?"

Solas couldn't quite contain his smile as he said, "Yes, as soon as we crest that rise ahead, we should be able to see it."

Beaming, suddenly fresh with excitement, the Herald tossed Cullen her reigns and slipped from the saddle, landing at Solas's side with an impressive puff of flurries. She was off with a quick 'Commander!' shot over her shoulder in parting.

Cullen stared at the reigns in his hand in disbelief for a moment before muttering a belated 'Herald,' absently under his breath. The woman would never cease to surprise him.

"Irisel," Leliana said suddenly from beside him, seated on her gray stallion with all the poise of a raven on a branch.

"Excuse me?" He tugged the Herald's mount closer to his own and wrapped the reigns dutifully around his saddle horn. He should have just handed them off to the nearest soldier, but with Leliana watching, he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Besides, some strange new voice in him whispered, the Herald would have to come back for her horse eventually, right?

"That's her name." Leliana continued, the picture of innocence with a knowing little smile curling at the edges of her lips. "Not 'Herald, or 'My Lady'."

Cullen glared and flushed for reasons he couldn't quite name but didn't appreciate. "I know that, thank you," he shot back.

Leliana shrugged, the same smug smile plastered on her face. Cullen had the urge to knock it loose; maybe just a quick nudge off her saddle into the snow would do the trick.

"My apologies, I thought you may have forgotten."

"She _is _the Herald. It's a sign of respect."

"Or is it a means for you to keep her at distance?" Leliana countered with her Maker-damned intuition. It was incredibly annoying.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean. You and Cassandra are determined to make her our leader-"

"And you don't agree?"

Cullen was caught slightly off guard, despite the conversation being an old one. Mostly because he found that, despite his natural stubbornness, his stance _had_ changed. It was another type of miracle all on its own. He wasn't exactly known for changing his mind.

"Damn." He said, somewhat awed.

Leliana's grin had morphed itself into a self satisfied mask of triumph. He _really_ wanted to push her into the snow. Hard.

"Soon you'll get to call her by a fun _new_ title and you can continue avoiding her given name like it's a ward against caring for her."

"Oh?" He spat, seriously annoyed and blushing hotly. Maker save him, he hoped no one was watching or listening to this little exchange. Varric chose that moment to snort loudly behind them. No such luck. "And what's that?"

"Inquisitor, _obviously_." She said, pleased with herself, and he knew that she too was laughing at him.

When had he become so damn funny?

She kicked her horse ahead, obviously feeling she'd won the battle, if not the war, and left him in a cloud of snow. Ahead Cullen caught sight of the subject of their discussion, battling exuberantly, if not clumsily, with the snow as she and Solas pushed ahead of the line. He'd never seen her so graceless, so carefree. It was strangely endearing, once again kindling that new fire in his breast.

"Maker's breath," he sighed, defeated.

"Don't worry," Varric said, idling up beside him, flask in hand. "We're all a little in love with her."

Cullen could only bring himself to grunt in response, Varric at least had the decency to laugh at him out right. The dwarf passed him his flask and Cullen took a long, long swallow.

He blamed the Inquisitor.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

AN: Thoughts, anyone? How badly did I fuck this up? Feel free to let me know so I can ignore you. Just kidding! Maybe...


	2. Blame the Herald: Part Two

Thank you everyone for the wonderful and highly positive response! I hope you enjoy this bit, it shamelessly deviates from what we see happen in the game (though I wouldn't call it 'AU' or anything -more like a 'behind the scenes' look), but it had to be done guys. It had to be. Enjoy.

Or don't.

But you totally should.

I own nothing. All hail BioWare.

* * *

**Blame the Herald  
**

**Part Two**

_Happiness feels a lot like sorrow _  
_Let it be, you can't make it come or go _  
_But you are gone- not for good but for now _  
_Gone for now feels a lot like gone for good _

_Happiness is a firecracker sitting on my headboard _  
_Happiness was never mine to hold _  
_Careful child, light the fuse and get away _  
_'Cause happiness throws a shower of sparks _

_Happiness damn near destroys you _  
_Breaks your faith to pieces on the floor _  
_So you tell yourself, that's enough for now _  
_Happiness has a violent roar _

_Happiness is like the old man told me _  
_Look for it, but you'll never find it all _  
_Let it go, live your life and leave it _  
_Then one day, wake up and she'll be home _  
_Home, home, home _

_Happiness, by The Fray_

* * *

Cullen could not immediately recall a time in which he had been more miserable.

Rain pounded at his company from all directions, carried on fierce gales of wind that cut through even the most well oiled cloaks like shards of glass. Icy water stung at his eyes from beneath a sodden hood and penetrated every nook and crevice of his armor until he could not even recall what being dry and warm felt like.

He blamed the Inquisitor.

Fel lighting, stinking of magic and corruption, ripped across the sky wildly, crashing to earth with a violence that shook the ground beneath them. From across the steady roll of gentle hills he could make out a strange green glow emanating from beneath the torrent waters' of a massive lake. It was most certainly a Fade rift, one of several the Inquisitor had been sent to close in the area.

His men were on edge from more than just rain and lightening. Their eyes darted across flickering shadows in search of the reported undead wandering the wilds of Crestwood, cold hands gripping reigns tightly and straying near weapons at the first sign of anything shifting in the darkness. Cullen had only assembled a small team to accompany him but it was a veteran force, much improved since their days at Haven. It was clear, however, that many of his men were undone by the utterly unforgiving weather. Not that he blamed them. Though to be honest the last time Cullen had passed through Crestwood had been during the Blight, so its present condition was actually quite the improvement.

Cullen squinted through the darkness, following the wavering lantern light of the standard bearer as they pressed their mounts up a steep rise in the path. The Inquisition's colors flapped ferociously in the wind, strangely majestic and fierce in the blinding flash of the storm. The ground leveled and the keep materialized like a mirage out of the misery, lighted windows promising warmth and comfort. Cullen could all but taste the relief of his men.

He kicked his mount into a gallop with a shout that was taken up by the entire company. With the keep in view his heart was a war drum in his chest and his hands shook as he urged his horse across unfamiliar terrain. Cullen wasn't typically prone to irrational fits of panic or worry, but since the moment the messenger had arrived at the gates of Skyhold several days prior, he'd had an acidic, burning lump in his throat.

_Lieutenant Murray burst into his office without preamble, "Commander!" The look on the man's face was enough to pull Cullen immediately from behind his desk. _

_"What is it, what's happened? Has Her Worship returned?" He hadn't heard the fanfare but he'd been buried in reports all morning. _

_The Lieutenant shook his head, "No My Lord, but a messenger just arrived from Crestwood, Sister Leliana has demanded your presence at the War Table, immediately."_

_Cullen was out the door before the other man had finished speaking, a sinking feeling in his gut. _

_Something had happened. _

_Leliana, typically the picture of control and discretion, was obviously shaken as he entered the large room. She didn't wait for him to ask. _

_"She's been injured, capturing a fortress in Crestwood."_

_The strength went out of Cullen's knees and he braced his clenched fists on the War Table in an effort to conceal his reaction. _

_"How badly?"His voice was hoarse as a thousand terrible thoughts passed through his mind at once. _

_Leliana shook her head, a helpless, aggrieved look on her face. She glanced down at the rumpled scroll in her hand with a weak shake of her head. "It doesn't say. Only that the keep was successfully captured from the bandits but that the Inquisitor is currently unable to be moved due to injuries sustained during the conflict."_

_Cullen slammed his fist on the table, scattering markers and papers. Leilana flinched. _

_"I'm gathering a company-"_

_"Cullen," Josephine cautioned softly from the doorway behind him. "Are you sure that's wise?"_

_He whirled on her and shouted, "I don't give a damn! We can't just leave her out there without support!-"_

_Cullen read the look of distress on their ambassador's face as she recoiled and some of the bluster went out of him. He shoved a hand angrily through his hair and turned away, pacing to the open window that faced snow covered mountains as a heavy silence fell over the room._

_ Maker help him he hated this. He hated sending her out there into danger with only a handful of people, most of whom he didn't trust beyond their own convoluted ambitions, while he sat behind safe walls delegating and pandering up to lords and nobles. It made him feel so… helpless. _

_Leliana rested a hand gently on his shoulder. Her expression, when he turned toward her, told him she understood. _

_"Go," she whispered with a soft smile. "We can handle things here for a few days."_

_Cullen closed his eyes for a brief moment, squashing a sudden sense of guilt and fighting for control over himself. He squeezed Leliana's hand briefly in his. _

_"We can't lose her," he muttered, his voice clipped to conceal emotion. __**I can't lose her, **__were the unspoken words of his heart. Words he was far too afraid to say aloud. _

_"I know,"_ _Leliana said and Cullen knew she understood far more than he wanted her to. _

The sentries recognized him immediately and the portcullises were being raised before they even made the draw bridge. They thundered through the Gate House and into the bailey of the keep, pacing their horses as a sudden flurry of activity enveloped them. Cullen caught sight of Cassandra rushing down the steps to meet them and he dismounted swiftly, throwing his hood back and shaking the water out of his eyes. The rain was less terrible within the confines of the keep, impressive walls barring the worst of the wind, but it was still persistent.

"Commander Cullen, we weren't expecting you-"

"Where is she Cassandra?" Cullen broke in, beyond impatient.

"The Inquisitor?" She seemed utterly perplexed by his presence, blinking at him with wide eyes in the deluge.

"No, the Empress," he growled. "Of _course_ the damned Inquisitor."

Cassandra glared, perturbed by his tone, but made no comment, "She's this way, Commander."

She led him swiftly up a series of steps, past crumbling fortifications and deserted courtyards of what had once been a formidable castle. Tents had already been erected along the southernmost wall and the parapets were littered with scouts. Cullen absently approved of the preparations. Men stared as they passed, stunned by his presence, and hurriedly stood at attention. Cullen paid them little heed.

They reached the main tower and Cassandra held the door open for him. She jerked her head upward, "Up the steps, on the third floor, the last door at the end of the hall. I have several pressing matters to attend unless you require my presence."

"No, that won't be necessary." Cullen said with little consideration to what she was actually saying, already half way across the room and to the steps. He was too preoccupied to consider the Seeker's lack of concern or distress, too intent on his own internal anxiety.

As soon as he was out of sight he took the steps two at a time and found the door Cassandra had described. The storm raged violently on as he knocked firmly, trying to ignore the trembling in his knees and hands. He was already pushing his way inside as the Inquisitor shouted a 'Come in!' which died on her lips as soon as she saw him.

Cullen stood stunned and dripping in her doorway as she stared at him in absolute shock.

The Inquisitor appeared to be in perfect health as she blinked at him owlishly from behind a massive oak desk. She was dressed in a simple, loose fitting night gown with her hair free and floating about her shoulders like a fiery cloak. She held a quill in one hand with a neatly stacked tower of reports to one side. As Cullen stood speechless a drop of ink fell and stained the parchment she'd just been reviewing. A large fire burned cheerfully in its grate and it gave the room a cheery, inviting glow.

She came to some sort of conclusion a moment later and lurched awkwardly from her chair. "Commander Cullen! What is it? Is it Skyhold? Has there been an attack?!"

Cullen was at a complete loss, opening his mouth several times only to snap it closed again as words evaded him completely.

He had expected to find her at death's door, buried under mounds of bloodied bandages and surrounded by anxious healers. As she came toward him, hands wringing anxiously, he _did _detect a slight limp and saw that she cringed as she walked.

"We… we received word that you had been injured," he said finally, his voice faint. The adrenaline was leaking out of him so fast that he felt completely deflated in mere seconds. Only sheer willpower kept him from failing against the doorjamb in a mixture of weary relief and total confusion.

The Inquisitor frowned at him, looking just as perplexed as he felt, and glanced down at her leg. One slender foot was bare against the rushes and the other had been carefully wrapped in bandages, bulky with the splints secured beneath it.

"Um, well, there was an incident with me being thrown from a horse. Broken leg, but Solas patched me up pretty quickly. Still aches some but nothing serious, should be able to remove the brace in a few days… is that why you rode-"

She broke off, reading the answer in his pained gaze, and her eyes widened further with understanding. Cullen gave up and collapsed into the nearest chair with a thunderous groan. Soggy armor creaked in protest as he leaned back and threw a hand over his eyes, temporarily defeated.

"We thought you were dying," he murmured helplessly.

"Oh," the Inquisitor said vaguely, apparently at as much of a loss as he.

He peeked at her from beneath the fall of his tunic sleeve. Her head was bowed slightly, waist length hair slipping forward to conceal her expression as her hands clenched and unclenched uncertainly before her. The Inquisitor had always been small but without the help of leather and armor she looked particularly fragile. Her cotton nightgown was thin and Cullen realized that he could see the faint outline of her figure through it by grace of the firelight behind her.

Maker, she was lovely.

He swallowed heavily and closed his eyes for another long, tense moment, trying desperately to sort through his tremulous emotions.

"How-" The Inquisitor said at last, stumbling over her words, "how did you know I'd been injured?"

Cullen grunted. "What do you mean how did I know? It was in the report you sent."

The Inquisitor shook her head slowly back and forth, "No it wasn't… I only just sent my report this morning…" She trailed off.

That brought Cullen to his senses. A cold spike of trepidation lanced through him. Had it been a trick? A means to pull him away from Skyhold before an attack? Or perhaps an attempt to corner he and the Inquisitor outside of their main fortifications?

They locked gazes and he could see the same series of possibilities racing through her mind.

"Do you have this letter?" She asked tightly.

He stood, jerking off his wet gauntlets and fumbling for the pouch at his belt. He pulled the parchment free, only slightly damp, and handed it to her. The Inquisitor snatched it out of his hands and moved closer to the candles burning on her desk. Cullen tried not to be distracted by the sheen of her hair, or the trim curve of her ankles, or the teasing gap between the laces at the front of her nightgown, or the way her face was reddening steadily with anger...

Cullen blinked and shook his head, managing to pull himself together just as she rounded on him, fury making her green eyes all the more vibrant. Damn, she was beautiful.

Maker help him he needed sleep. Or a stiff drink. Possibly both.

_Focus Cullen. _

She opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and reached for a heavy furred lined dressing robe hanging near the mantle.

"He's gone too far this time!" She declared mysteriously as she tugged her robe fiercely around her.

"My lady Inquisitor?" Cullen queried, his voice sounding a tad shrill even to his own ears. He'd never seen her so furious, and he refused to admit he was vaguely cowed by her.

She ignored him completely and threw the door of her chamber wide open.

"Lieutenant Harrow!" She bellowed into the hall, her voice impressively terrifying. Cullen had never imagined someone so small could be so _loud_.

The scrape of furniture and the heavy clap of armored boots were almost instantaneous. A few moments later a winded young man stood before them at full attention, taking in his Commander's presence with poorly concealed surprise. Cullen watched as the Lieutenant, likely a new promotion as he only barely recognized him, took in his Mistress's disheveled appearance and blushed. He caught his Commander's glare and swallowed, standing straight as a board.

"Your Wor-"

"Is Varric still within the Keep?" The Inquisitor demanded.

"N-No Your Worship, he left for town not three hours ago."

Cullen watched as her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Of course he did," she ground out. "I want him brought to me the moment he returns."

"Yes, Your Wor-"

"What in Maker's name is going on?" Cullen demanded, his patience gone.

The Inquisitor turned to him and he almost regretted his outburst. She fluttered the letter between them like a weapon. "Verric wrote this, bastard must have sent it off the day after we managed to wrestle this place out from under the bandits."

Cullen frowned, more confused than ever. "Are you sure? Why would he-"

"Oh, I'm sure. And I don't know why, but I intend to find out." There was something about the way her eyes shied away from his, and the fascinating flush that crept up her chest, that indicated she wasn't being completely honest with him

Cullen took a moment to process this. Was Varicc a traitor? That didn't seem likely, but one never knew-

"What is going on up here?!" Cassandra demanded, huffing her way up the steps. "I heard your screeching half way across the keep-"

The Inquisitor shoved the letter at her, "Varric's handy work!"

The Seeker frowned and quickly read the contents. Her face went through a fascinating array of expressions before eventually settling on a mixture of fury and disgust. She looked between Cullen and the Inquisitor, understanding blossoming. Cullen shifted his feet, suddenly mortally embarrassed.

"That-that… _rouge._ If he did this as some sort of _prank_ I will have his head."

"Not if I have it first," the Inquisitor growled in a rare show of violence. Cullen got the sense that he was missing some important bits of information.

Maker, he wished he knew what in Thedas was going on.

He was on the verge of demanding some answers, but their typically demure little Inquisitor was on a rampage.

"Lieutenant, see to Commander Cullen's comfort and ensure that his men are well looked after. We should have room in the stables as well, make sure that Curtis feeds and settles their horses down."

"Yes Your Worship!" The young Lieutenant said, snapping a perfect salute, and stepped further down the hall to wait for his charge.

Cullen looked between the two women before understanding dawned. He was being dismissed.

"Er, I'll uh, see you in the morning then… My Lady."

She all but slammed the door in his face.

Cullen stood in the hall, still soaking wet, with Cassandra beside him. He stood there for several long moments trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Cassandra sighed and patted his shoulder, steering him down the hall. "Don't worry. She'll remember her manners after she calms down."

Cullen could do little more than shake his head in disbelief. He was completely wrung out. He'd ridden at a break neck pace for two days, barely eating, barely sleeping, a complete mess. He briefly considered the possibility that he was hallucinating. No, he was in far too much discomfort to be dreaming, he concluded.

"So," Cassandra remarked lightly as they stepped from the tower and into the drafty halls outside. "You heard she was injured… and rode all the way here yourself, hum?"

"Not another damn word Cassandra."

If she had laughed he might have hit her, as it was she hid a smile behind a cough and Cullen pretended not to notice.

* * *

The Inquisitor took much of the following day to remember her manners. Cullen had the sneaking suspicion that she was avoiding him more than anything else, however.

Rather that dither about in his rooms like a lost puppy, Cullen made himself useful but inspecting their men and reviewing the keep's fortifications. It was no Skyhold of course, but it would do nicely he concluded as he oversaw the movement of several newly repaired ballista to the ramparts. The storm from the previous night had settled into a bleak drizzle, annoying but harmless.

Cullen walked the parapets, surveying the depressing landscape and feeling listless but attempting not to appear so. He paused at the northern battlements to lean against the crenels and frown at the Fade Rift in the distance. The lake glowed green, a strangely lovely but chilling effect that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He let his mind wander and it eventually led to where it did so often these days; the Inquisitor.

According to the few soldiers who had witnessed the event, she had broken into the keep like a vengeful demon with Verric, Cassandra, and Blackwall at her back, managing to uproot them all in under a few hours. Apparently there had been reports of raped women and murdered children in the villages and their little Inquisitor had made it her mission to eradicate them from Thedas completely. Cullen couldn't fault her judgment, but he wondered at her need to save just about _everyone_ she came across. It was the sort of thinking that got a person killed, however noble and heroic their intentions might be. And a dead hero wasn't of much use to anyone. Cullen cringed at the thought and shook his head. That wasn't honest or fair. It was more than that, he just wasn't sure if he was ready to admit how much _more_. They were in the middle of a war for Maker's sake and he couldn't let himself be distracted.

Verric arrived around noon and was immediately snatched up by Cassandra before Cullen could corner the dwarf himself. He'd gotten no more answers from Cassandra than he had the night before. The Seeker had never been terribly good at lying or keeping secrets, it sort of clashed with her profession, so she mostly avoided him as well. He had to comfort himself with the knowledge that if it had been anything serious they would have clued him in by now. He hoped.

It was near sunset when Varric found him as he addressed a few of the new recruits who'd begged him for stories from Kirkwall. Normally he would have refused but, in all honesty, it gave him something to do.

The dwarf looked deeply uncomfortable. Like a scolded child forced to apologize but not at all contrite.

"I uh," he cleared his throat, working his face into an almost convincing expression of shame. Cullen wasn't buying it. "I'm sorry if my report made the Inquisitor's condition seem more serious than it was. Guess I've spent too much time writing fictitious novels, you know, building the drama for effect…"

Cullen glared, crossing his arms over his chest, "You do realize this cost me precious time at Skyhold fortifying our defenses, don't you?"

Verric gave him a self deprecating smile and extended his hands in a supplicating gesture. "I'm real sorry Commander, it won't happen again. I've been officially forbidden from writing reports ever again."

Cullen still had the sense he was missing something important but he gave a curt nod, "You'll have sentry duty for a month when you get back."

The dwarf groaned miserably and looked very contrite, which made Cullen feel a bit better about the whole ordeal. The Inquisitor requested his presence in her rooms for a private dinner shortly thereafter, which took the wind out of his sails a bit.

Maker, the woman put him on edge.

He never knew what she was going to do or say next and she made his damned palms sweat. He spent an inordinate amount of time combing his unruly hair into submission before making his way up the tower. Josephine would have accused him of _primping_ and he shuddered at the thought.

The Inquisitor seemed on her best behavior, however. She made her apologies, clearly embarrassed by her behavior the night before, until he had to laugh and assure her that all was well. He _should_ have been perturbed, but he wasn't, not truly. Despite everything waiting for him back at Skyhold he had to admit it was nice to be away, out in the field again, even if only for one more night.

The Inquisitor poured them both some wine and served him dinner herself, though he'd protested. It seemed inappropriate to have her serving _him_ in any capacity, but when he told her as much she'd only laughed at him. It was a deep, husky laugh that bubbled up from her belly and warmed him down to his toes. Despite everything, he soon found himself at ease, his nervousness all but forgotten. She had that effect on people.

"Did Josephine solve her rat problem?" The Inquisitor asked after a small but comfortable lull in their conversation. It was several hours into the night with the fire burning low, leaving Cullen feeling more relaxed than he had in months. He might have felt guilty, what with so much left undone, but he was distracted by the way the warm light gave her skin a healthy golden glow, and he was partially entranced by the way she absently traced one of her long, elegant fingers over the rim of her wine glass. It was strange to think that those fingers, so small, so slight, could shape nations, could mold destinies.

He cleared his throat a bit and grinned, "Not before they got into her desk and messed all over everything. You would have thought the entire castle was collapsing, the fuss she made."

The Inquisitor chuckled, that same deep sound that made his heart stutter.

"Sounds like Josie alright," she said, eyes glittering over the edge of her wine glass as she drained it.

Cullen blamed the wine, he'd had several glasses by then, as he watched her lick her lips, catching a gleaming drop from the corner of her mouth like a cat after too much cream. His breath caught and his fingers clenched reflexively against the arm of his chair. She must have heard because her expression changed suddenly, deepened. The atmosphere grew heavy, charged, and expectant between one breath and the next.

"Cullen," she said and her voice was husky and unsure. The sound of her speaking his name, void of restraining titles, made his blood sing and he tried to think of something, _anything_ to say.

The moment was ruined by a sharp rap on the door.

They both jumped, and Cullen was glad to see he wasn't the _only_ one who was blushing. The Inquisitor set her glass aside and cleared her throat. Her features became schooled, calculated. She was learning, he realized. Learning how to wear a mask for others. Despite understanding the necessity of such masks, it made Cullen a bit sad. She hadn't asked for this life, but the entire world, himself included, kept thrusting it at her without mercy, forcing her to become their talisman against monsters and demons alike. Perhaps that was why she seemed so suited to it. His father had told him once, when he'd been too young and headstrong to listen or care, that those who sought power were typically the least worthy to hold it. Cullen hadn't understood then, but experience had shown him the terrible wisdom of those words.

"Come in," she called, and Cullen straightened, attempting to behave as though nothing had happened. Nothing had of course, but as he caught the Inquisitor's brief, sidelong look, he wasn't so sure. Something had passed between them, there was no point in denying it, he only hoped they could move past it. They had to. Then why did the thought make his chest hurt and his stomach clench?

Lieutenant Harrow stepped nervously inside. The young soldier's eyes darted between them and Cullen could already hear the rumors that would be running through the halls before the sun rose. Maker, they would probably beat him back to Skyhold.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Your Worship, but there are refugees at the gates and Seeker Cassandra said you would wish to see them."

The Inquisitor nodded and stood, the picture of decorum. "Yes of course, thank you Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Harrow bowed to her and saluted Cullen, who managed a nod, before ducking awkwardly out of the door.

The Inquisitor turned toward him, something like regret in her eyes. "Thank you for a wonderful evening... Commander."

And just like that the walls were back up between them. Cullen swallowed back his sudden rush of disappointment. It was for the best, he knew. They were toeing a dangerous line and neither of them could afford the distraction. He stood and bowed in his turn, unable to quite meet her gaze, afraid of what he might see there.

But she gave him the shadow of a smile, something unreadable in her expression, and left him to finish his wine alone. He stood there for a long, quiet moment, alone with the ghost of her presence. He said her name, not her title, to the empty air. It felt almost like a sacrament.

Damn did he hate it when Leliana was right.

When he rode out early the next morning, the sun just peaking over distant mountains, the acidic lump he'd rode in with had been replaced by a sunken feeling in his belly. As though he was leaving some important piece of himself behind.

He blamed the Inquisitor.

* * *

A/N. Took the '?' out at the end of the first chapter just for you ashleyslife. ;)


	3. Blame the Herald: Part Three

I know this isn't how their first kiss happens in the game but, to be honest, I hate rewriting things that have already happened. I liked taking the premise and conclusion and playing around with it. I loved the kiss in the game, it was precious, but I thought I'd give it an alternative spin. This is the last edition to this little ficlet, by the way, though I expect there will be other drabbles in the future. Thank you all for reading, and please review. Your words give me life!

* * *

**Blame the Herald**

**Part Three**

_My baby, wide eyed and pretty. _

_You're a body I could hold. _

_You are a good woman I'm told. _

_I've made alot of mistakes, _

_and you know some of them made me. _

_You may think me a fool, _

_but I am a good man too. _

_I am a good man too_

_My Baby, by Sanders Bohike_

* * *

Cullen was doing something he typically tried to avoid doing, particularly in public.

Brooding.

He blamed the Inquisitor.

From the shadows he watched the festivities, nursing a large flagon of ale. Bitter stuff from the far north, but he liked it. Matched his sour mood he supposed with a humorless smile. It was a small celebration in honor of a new region reclaimed, an impressive fortress captured, and several new and flourishing alliances. Things had certainly been going their way the past few months as they rebuilt Skyhold and secured the neighboring lands. But mostly it was because Josephine had pressed the need to continually bolster spirits and had thought the idea of a small party a good one.

Cullen wasn't sure he agreed. But then he'd never been one for parties. The silly clothes, the dancing, the frivolity… wasn't his idea of 'fun.'

But that wasn't why he was brooding, at least not entirely. No, he was brooding because the Inquisitor was avoiding him.

Ever since he'd shown up like a fool at her door in Crestwood, she'd been distant. She was still overly repentant for her behavior toward him certainly, but also different, never able to quite meet his eyes during planning sessions in the war room and darting out of rooms as soon as he entered them. She'd even begun to forgive Varicc for his apparently poor show of judgment and terrible word choice, and she'd been fit to garrote the dwarf! But with him…

Cullen didn't understand it, and so, he brooded.

The Inquisitor was further down the hall, standing near one of the roaring hearth fires, dressed simply and elegantly in a green dress with her hair pulled back tightly from her face. Someone, likely Josephine or Vivienne, had applied a bit of cosmetics to her eyes and cheeks. She reminded Cullen of spring time, when the first touches of life began to sprout from dead, frozen earth.

Every damn time he looked at her some idiotic poetic thought entered his head and his heart would go into apocalyptic fits. It was infuriating. He'd certainly had his infatuations over the years, but most had been short and superficial. This was different; he couldn't seem to get the woman out of his head.

Cullen had never seen the Inquisitor in a dress, he realized. Save for bursting in on her in her nightgown at Crestwood, he'd only ever witnessed her in battle leathers or her more comfortable uniform of bland breeches and tunics. He wasn't sure he liked the change. Or maybe he just didn't like the way everyone looked at her while she wore it. Blackwall, in particular. The Warden in question leaned over the Inquisitor's shoulder as Cullen watched and whispered something in her ear that caused her to blush and laugh. It was a tinkling, feminine sound.

His fingers clenched dangerously around his mug and he drained it in one long gulp. Maker, the stuff was awful. Something deep in his chest growled its disapproval.

"Pouting I see," Leliana commented, emerging from the shadows like a whisper.

Cullen shook his head, swearing to himself that someday he would sneak up on _her_ and see how _she _liked it. Their spy master was wearing a deep purple outfit of silk and satin that was of a strange design, likely some new fashion he didn't understand. He spared her only the briefest glance, but it told him that she was sporting at least half a dozen concealed weapons. And people called _him_ paranoid

"I'm not in the mood Leliana," he said.

Leliana snorted and crossed her arms over her chest, staring him down from the shelter of a towering statue of Andraste. Cullen refused to participate in her staring match. Down the hall Sera, who was easily the strangest person Cullen had ever met -elven or otherwise-, performed a back flip off the table. The Inquisitor clapped enthusiastically.

"How long are you going to pine after her Cullen?" Leliana demanded and he nearly choked. "Just go _speak_ with her-"

"Leliana," he warned darkly. "Leave it be."

She pursed her lips at him for a moment before shaking her head with a disappointed sigh. "Very well, have it your way. "

She turned to join the rest of the party but paused a few feet from him. When he begrudgingly met her gaze he felt as though she were dissecting his very soul. He shivered despite himself.

"I don't know what you're thinking in that great oblivious head of yours, Cullen, but I think you should know she feels just as uncertain and undeserving as _you_ do. But if you don't do _something_ the two of you will be running circles around one another until it's too late. I think we both know you have enough regrets without adding this to the top of your list."

She left him before he could formulate a reply. The Inquisitor greeted her cheerfully, but her eyes darted his direction briefly as though sensing his presence. Something in her face tightened the coils in his belly, but he pressed further into the shadows, feeling like the very definition of a coward.

He'd had enough celebrating for one evening.

He slipped away and into his quarters, taking the lesser used paths of the castle. In the safety of his office he peered out the loop holes, thinking of nothing and everything, before heading up to his bed. Undressed and settle beneath the covers, Cullen frowned at his repaired ceiling and found that he missed the night sky above him. Though he was sure he'd appreciate not waking up frozen and covered in snow.

He was awake long into the night, contemplating the meaning of Leliana's words long after the fires had burned out and everyone else had gone to bed.

* * *

A light knock on his door roused Cullen from his stupor.

He'd been attempting to wade through all the reports, missives, and complaints he'd been avoiding all week. He refused to admit he was hiding. Save for his appearances at the War Table, he'd had very little contact with anyone outside his own soldiers. Cullen just couldn't bear the way Josephine and Leliana looked at him with poorly masked pity in their eyes. Or how the Inquisitor seemed to be playing some strange version of hide and seek with him.

But no, he wasn't hiding; he was just a very busy man.

"Enter," he boomed, tossing his quill aside in disgust and rubbing at the ache in his neck. He needed a break anyway.

Josephine pushed her way inside, her customary tablet tucked at her side and a desperate look on her face.

"Commander, I was hoping that I could ask your assistance in relation to a… _delicate_ matter?"

Cullen had never seen their ambassador so uneasy. He rose, feeling guilty for his recent absence and hoped his smile was compassionate and inviting.

"Of course My Lady Ambassador, what can I do for you?"

She shuffled her feet then sighed deeply.

"It's well, you see-" She sighed, broke off and squared her shoulders.

"We need the Inquisitor to pass judgment on the Mayor from Crestwood before she departs for the deserts and well, she flat out refuses to do so."

Cullen frowned, "Did she say why?"

Josephine huffed, "Something about not feeling qualified and saying either you or Leliana should do it."

"And you want me to what? Judge the man?"

The Ambassador shook her head firmly. "No, the Inquisitor _must_ be the one to sentence him. It's important that people see her as the law and justice of the Inquisition."

"Alright, well, has Cassandra or Leliana spoken to her?"

"They've tired but she tells them the same thing. She's been avoiding us almost as much as _you_ have been."

Cullen blushed and rubbed his neck sheepishly. "What is it you expect me to do about it then?"

"Well, talk to her obviously."

Cullen snorted, irritation rising. He turned away from her to hide his expression. "What makes you think she'll listen to me?"

"I think we both know the answer to that question." Josephine's voice was soft, gentle, like he was a Maker-damned skittish horse.

Cullen grimaced, "You assume too much Josephine."

"Cullen, _please_, this is vital to our cause. Don't make me beg."

He considered for a moment, but he knew she was right, and he thought he might understand what their Inquisitor might be feeling."Alright, I'll see what I can do."

Josephine practically burst with gratitude and surprised him with a swift hug and a sisterly kiss on the cheek. He cupped his jaw for a moment after she was gone, shaking his head in disbelief. To think people used to find him intimidating, frightening even, now he was like some beloved younger brother.

He definitely blamed the Inquisitor.

Cullen found the Inquisitor along the northern battlements. He'd spent several hours hounding everyone he came across only to be led on one wild goose chase after another. It hadn't made for the most productive afternoon, to say the least, but his irritation was quickly replaced with worry as each place he checked proved fruitless.

This particular portion of the castle wall was the least repaired and thus the least trafficked. The wind howling distantly through the mountain peaks was the only sound and it was a haunting tune. She was sitting on the furthest end of the ramparts with her back against the exterior wall of the inner keep, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her face was nearly impossible to read in the glare of the setting sun but he was sure she hadn't seen him. Eying the thirty feet of rubble that lay between he and his target, Cullen sighed deeply. Resigning himself to the task at hand, heart fluttering nervously in his chest, he began his descent. He felt like an idiot.

"I should have known Josie would send you after me," the Inquisitor said darkly when he'd taken only a few awkward steps.

Cullen cringed and lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun but it did little to help him see her face. The Inquisitor ducked her head and disentangled herself fluidly from her seat, then leapt down to the parapet with a grace that was both terrifying and impressive. Cullen was not overly fond of heights and watching her do it made his stomach roll.

"I-uh, was hoping we might talk," he said lamely, attempting to appear friendly, casual. He had the sense that he wasn't quite pulling it off though.

The Inquisitor came toward him with a sigh of her own, picking her way through the debris with ease. He tensed as she drew near, but she passed him with barely a glance. He turned and watched her slump between the crenels, pieces of her unkempt hair tossing in the wind. She was wearing her typical leather trousers and a loose fitting shirt with its too-big sleeves rolled over several times to free her hands. Cullen had the strangest image of her wearing one of _his_ shirts, and _only_ one of his shirts and he quickly shook his head to clear the inappropriate vision.

"I don't believe I have anything else to say," she said with a cool detachment in her voice Cullen had never quite heard before.

After a brief hesitation, he came to stand at her side, leaning opposite her with his face turned toward the mountains while he studied her face from the corner of his eye. She hadn't been crying, he noted, but there was a hollowness to her gaze that worried him.

"I just thought you might like someone to talk to," he said kindly, looking away when her eyes flicked disbelievingly to his face.

"So you're not here to try and convince me to judge the Mayor of Crestwood?" Her tone had its flippancy back, which Cullen took as a good sign. He smiled ruefully, watching the passage of a bird high above them as it dipped over the mountains and out of sight. Likely one of Leliana's ravens, carrying some dire life changing message that would shake kingdoms.

Cullen shrugged, "I doubt I'll be able to convince you of anything if you truly don't wish to do it."

He caught the slight upward tug of her lips from the corner of his eye, "Are _you_ calling _me _stubborn?"

He chuckled, "I think that perhaps… we have that trait in common."

She was silent for a long moment but Cullen could see her thinking, working herself up to speaking. For his part, he just enjoyed her nearness. The vague press of her warmth so near to his side, near enough to touch with only the casual shifting of his weight, and the faint scent of her soap, something herbal and faintly musky.

"Do you know why I was near the conclave that day?" She said at last, her voice soft, sad almost.

"I was under the impression that you were in service to one of the Chantry Mothers attending the summit," he replied cautiously. Cassandra had told him the tale but, typical of the Seeker, it had lacked detail.

"Yes, Mother Rene Balmount. Out of all the girls in the area I probably would have been her _last_ choice but when Jenethe Quin fell ill last minute, my Aunt pressured her into it." Her voice was bitter and he resisted the urge to touch her, to smooth her hair away from her face, or to rub her shoulder and neck where her shirt fluttered away from smooth, pale skin. Instead he clenched at the stone wall, the cold biting into his fingers through the leather.

He watched her gaze harden and her jaw clench, "I was there by pure chance and I dreaded every moment of it. I barely even cared why I was there, I just knew that I hated the way Mother Balmount talked down to me and treated me like common trash."

He reached out for her then, at a loss for what to say to her. "Inquisitor-"

"Don't," she hissed harshly and jerked away from him, turning her back. "Please, just- don't call me that. Not now."

His hand dropped and a lump formed in his throat.

"Don't you see!" She half yelled, whirling on him, and this time he saw the tears in her eyes. "I am the _least _qualified person to be here. I'm a farm girl who spent most of her days herding sheep and helping with the planting and harvesting. I could barely get the damn sheep to follow me and now _you_ lot want me to build this empire, this force for good and I have _no_ idea what I am doing." She completed her tirade on a sob and pressed a trembling hand to her mouth for a brief moment, eyes swimming. Cullen watched helplessly, immobile, as she gathered herself.

A tear slipped down her cheek, bright in the last rays of the sun, and she brushed it angrily away. "He killed all those people. Drown them like a litter of unwanted cats. But was he wrong to do it?" She turned to him, eyes desperate and questioning. "How many lives did he save by sacrificing the infected? Maybe ten, maybe a hundred? I don't know, probably, but all I can think about is some poor little girl, sick and frightened, dying alone as the waters flooded her home. I _hate_ him, but I think he might have been right, and Maker save me, I can't forgive him for it."

Cullen took her by her shoulders and forced her to look at him."I don't know what brought you to us; the Maker, Andraste or pure, dumb luck, but we could not have asked for a better leader-"

She scoffed in disbelief but he only tightened his grip on her. "It's true. You should hear the men speak of you. They _believe_ in you, not just because of the damned mark on your hand, but because of your courage, your compassion, your intelligence. None of us: myself, Leliana, Josephine, or Cassandra, could have done what you have. You've united a fractured world into one, unified cause."

She sniffed and met his gaze, her eyes and nose a little red, but Cullen had never thought her lovelier.

"I don't think I can do this…" she confessed reluctantly, as though she were bearing the deepest secrets of her soul to him.

"You can," he said firmly, giving her a gentle shake. "You see your upbringing and circumstances as a weakness, a handicap to be ashamed of, but I see it as your greatest strength. Our people don't need pandering nobles who've never known a hard day's labor in all their lives. They need one of their own to show them the way. You've done that, and I know you will keep doing that. I said the men believe in you, and they do, but what's more- I" he took a breath, steeling himself, "_I _believe in you. I have never believed in a cause, or a leader more."

She met his gaze and held it. Her eyes searched his for some truth, some confirmation that the words he spoke were real and honest. She must have found it, and more besides, because a flush crept enticingly up her chest and across her cheeks.

"Cullen I-"

He'd never been one to throw caution to the wind. Never one to act without considering the consequences of those actions first, but in that moment he let it all go. His feelings of unworthiness, of regret and guilt, and most of all, his fear of rejection. He pulled her to him with a jerk of his hands, ignoring her startled gasp, and pressed his lips firmly to hers.

She froze against him, a shudder creeping through her entire body, across her shoulders and into his hands. He began to pull away, horror washing through him, when her hands came to cup the side of his face, her touch as soft and hesitant as butterfly wings. Their lips parted, briefly before she titled forward to renew the contact, her fingers brushing a burning trail across his jaw and to the back of his neck, carding through his hair.

Cullen resisted the urge to tug her firmly against him, mindful of his armor, and instead kneaded her hips and the small of her back. The kiss deepened and for once his mind was clear, weightless, free. But such moments can not last forever. It was she who broke the contact at last, and he pressed his forehead to hers as their breathing slowly normalized. He pulled back, unsure of what he would find, but he needn't have worried. Her eyes were glazed but full of wonder and happiness, echoing the emotions of his soul. He gave her a slow smile, one she returned until they were both laughing softly at the sheer improbability of it.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry if that was too forward of me, My-"

"Don't," she said firmly, still smiling, and shifted her hand to hold his face. He resisted the urge to turn and kiss her palm. "Don't say 'My Lady' or 'Inquisitor' or 'Your Worship.' At least not when we're alone, and by the Maker, not right now or I shall have to push you from the battlements."

He laughed and pulled her in for a kiss that was far too short. "As you wish… Irisel." Maker, did it feel _good_ to say her name. Her answering coos of approval made him want to throw her over his shoulder and take her back to his apartments where he might finish whatever they had just started.

But she sighed deeply, and her eyes were full of reluctance. "If I agree to judge him, the Mayor that is, will you be there?"

He gave her an encouraging smile and pulled her in for a hug, burring his face briefly in the softness of her neck. "Whatever you need, I will be there."

"Does that include punishing Varric when he acts like an ass?"

"_Especially_ that."

"Oh, good." She kissed his throat and fire spread through his veins,

Something foreign settled deep in Cullen's heart. Something he'd never felt before. Something dangerously close to _contentment_. They had an entire war laid out before them, countless perils to overcome, but in that moment there was only the feel of her between his hands and the warmth of her arms about his neck. Leliana had been right, of course. Not that he would ever admit it to her. He didn't know what the future held, but he would not, _could_ not let this go, let her go, not without a fight.

He blamed the- ah, fuck it. He didn't care.

**_Fin_**

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A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed, and thanks for the reviews, and favs, and follows and general love. You're all the bestest. See ya around next time!


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